Moments
by DarknessAngel013
Summary: A DHr songfic to the song Moments by Emerson Drive. It's a little dark and only has little mentionings of Hermione. And it's in Draco's POV. So, I guess it's a Draco songfic, with dash of Hermione, to the song Moments by Emerson Drive. There. Good enough.


(A/N: Hello dutiful fans. I'm sorry I haven't updated any of my other stories. I've been so busy. I'm teaching a class over the summer, among other things. But I did have time to write another songfic one-shot to tide you over until, hopefully, next friday. Because, tuesday, I start school once again and will have plenty of time to update all of my stories. :) Yay! Unless I have exams...T-T Boo...but I'll let you know ahead of time. Anyways, let's get this over with. Here's Moments, a D/Hr songfic to the hit song by country music artist Emerson Drive. Enjoy!)

Moments (D/Hr Songfic; song credited to Emerson Drive)

I had to get out. The hateful looks were starting to drive me insane. They thought that I'd done it; that I'd killed her. How could I have done that to her? She had been my everything these past five years. Why couldn't these people understand how much I had loved her; how much I still did? Or that I was hurting more than any of them, because it had been me who had been too caught up with work to pick her up from her parent's house. So she had walked home.

And now she was gone—someone had taken her from us, for no reason apparent to any of us. She had been loved by the whole community. She was a pure soul. But someone, apparently, had not thought that

She had been stabbed—right there on the E. Street Bridge, where we had shared our first kiss. And then they had thrown her into the foaming river below, knowing that she was deathly afraid of the deep water. The killer had known too much. She had never stood a chance. And that's why they thought that it had been me. Who else would have known the significance of that place, or about her fears? I was the logical choice. And, to top it all of off, it was easy to blame a Malfoy.

I shook my head, tears clouding my vision. Reality flooded my senses—my dear Hermione was gone. I could never again look into her eyes and see the brilliance, beauty and independence that I had fallen so deeply in love with. And then another thought flooded through me—I could join her. It would take only a little effort—to kill myself. And it was that thought that propelled me towards the E. Street Bridge.

_I was coming to the end of a long, long walk_

I stepped onto the bridge and stopped, turning to look out across the water. I was going to do it. The world would never see a living Draco Malfoy after this night. I was going to kill myself. My travels had ended. I looked down over the railing and saw a heap of trash, piled up by the more careless members of the community.

_When a man crawled out of a cardboard box_

I wouldn't have seen him at all, had he not coughed. He was a tiny old man, with silver hair and bright, sparkling blue eyes. I knew I would never forget those eyes. They were so full of pain and humiliation.

_Under the E. Street Bridge_

I wondered, silently, why he was there, of all places. There were loads of better and less dirty places for such a man to live. If he was homeless, there were shelters. If he was ill, there were hospitals. He stood, shakily, and coughed again.

_Followed me onto it_

He stepped onto the bank of the river and followed it to where I stood gazing over the railing. I watched his progress with an indifferent expression. An encounter with him would only delay the inevitable. I would not live through the night, no matter what this man said or did. I was sure of it.

_I went out halfway across_

I continued on down the bridge, in order to find a more deadly landing place. I didn't want there to be any chance of survival. I was determined to die.

_With that homeless shadow tagging along_

And that old man kept my pace, watching me with those bright eyes. I avoided him as best I could, but he continued ambling along behind me, as if his purpose in life was to bug the hell out of me. Suddenly, I remembered the bag full of galleons I had in my pocket. Maybe he wanted money from me.

_So I dug for some change_

I pulled out the bag and reached out to him. His eyes widened and he moved closer to me, as if suddenly transfixed by my response to his presence. But, as he neared me, he shook his head, denying the money.

_Wouldn't need it anyway_

I shrugged and reached out again, watching as he reached out for it.

_He took it, looking just a bit ashamed_

His face flamed as he took the bag for me, before pocketing it in his tattered cotton jacket. I felt a pang of sympathy for this man—it embarrassed him to take money from people. He was just a lost soul, just like I was. I wondered how long he had been forced to do this in order to stay alive. It seemed like a hopeless existence.

_He said, "__You know, I haven't always been this way."_

He said the words with courage. "I haven't always been this way." And the sincerity in his tone made my one-track mind falter. "_I've had my moments, days in the sun; moments I was second to none. Moments when I knew I did what I thought I couldn't do. Like that plane ride coming home from the war, that summer my son was born. And memories like a coat so warm, a cold wind can't get through. Looking at me now you might not know it, but I've had my moments_," he nearly wept the words and my hands trembled.

_I stood there trying to find my nerve_

My confidence faltered, Hermione's image suddenly awake in my mind. Her beautiful face was smiling. But then the cold bit at my hands, bringing reality to my side, and Hermione's image faltered, becoming the battered and bloated, drowned corpse of my deceased love. I nearly wept; but, instead, my hatred of life grew stronger. I deserved to be the one in the casket.

_Wondering if a single soul on Earth_

Was there anyone who knew me—truly? Or had she been the only one?

_Would care at all_

Had she been the only one who cared?

_Miss me when I'm gone._

Would anyone truly mourn me, if I was to so suddenly end my life?

_That old man just kept hanging around_

His bright eyes still stared at me, as if he was waiting for something.

_Looking at me, looking down_

But his eyes wouldn't meet my own. He just stared at my body and then at the pavement; an occasional glance traveling to the churning water of the river beneath us. But I caught his glance once, and his eyes were full of sympathy and remorse.

_I think he recognized_

He kept nodding when my gaze traveled to the water, or when tears dripped down my face.

_That look__ in my eyes._

He knew. The old man knew what I was going to do.

_Standing with him there, I felt ashamed_

My will faltered once again. What was I doing? This man had lived through more hell than I had, but he was still standing in front of me, still sympathetic. His heart had been torn into a thousand pieces every single day of his life, but he still found the strength to live. I was so weak. I was so ashamed.

_I said, "You know, I haven't always been this way."_

Something made me tell him my story—made me explain that I had once lived—truly lived. My voice trembled: "_I've had my moments, days in the sun; moments I was second to none. Moments when I knew I did what I thought I couldn't do. Like the day I walked away from the wine for a woman who became my wife; and a love that, when it was right, could always see me through. Looking at me now you might not know it, but I've had my moments_." And the old man smiled. And suddenly I couldn't do it anymore. The memories of my life had made me realize that I wasn't done living. And somehow, I knew that Hermione would be just fine without me, if only for a little while.

_I know somewhere 'round a trashcan fire tonight_

As I walked back home to the flat Hermione and I had shared, I pictured my homeless savior gathered around a fire somewhere, with anyone who needed the warmth on a night this cold.

_That old man tells his story one more time_

And I could practically hear his rendition of the saving of my life. He would turn it into another life lesson. I could just picture it.

_He says_

He'd recite my story like some epic tale. And he'd be the unexpected hero, and me, the creature in distress. And his companions would gather and their burdens would lessen, just hearing about how a homeless old man had saved Draco Malfoy.

_"__I've had my moments, days in the sun; moments I was second to none. Moments when I knew I did what I thought I couldn't do. Like that cool night on the E. Street Bridge, when a young man almost ended it. I was right there, wasn't scared a bit, and I helped to pull him through. Looking at me now you might not know it, oh, looking at me now you might not know it, but I've had my moments," _he'd recite, captivating all those around him, because he had saved a man from himself.

But they wouldn't understand that if I had not spoken that night, I would have gone through with the deed that I had bestowed upon myself. It had been a combination of his story and my memories that had saved me. They would never know, unless they found out by themselves, that the only person who can save you from destruction is yourself. "_I've had my moments." _I've had sad, happy and indifferent moments, but, "_I've had my moments."_


End file.
